Mistress for Hire (6 page)

“You brought me here.”

“No.” He fought to keep his voice calm. “Why are you in Paris?” She hesitated and his hand tightened around her ankle. She flinched and he released her, softly trailing his hands up her calves. It might take all night, but she would tell him everything.

His hand tightening at her ankle gave her a surprising jolt and she wished she hadn’t jumped. Her brain heaved, trying to follow the conversation, when all she wanted to do was feel his touch. What did he want her to say? She lapped up the attention of his smiles, his stroking. He traced a pattern against her thigh, the terry cloth pressing into her sensitive skin. She wanted his hands on her bare legs again, this time sliding under the robe, up, up, up. His gaze met hers, his eyes dark and probing.

“Tell me why you’re here, Nikki.”

His voice reminded her of chocolate, deep, rich, and smooth. He’d be chili chocolate, with a bite at the back of her tongue. Wait, she’d thought caramel before. She’d have to make a dessert and name it after him. Nikki smiled and her lids half closed.

“I told you. Mimi left me money. Even gave me a letter to give Emmaline. I’ve wanted this, but I was scared.” Nikki blinked tears away with the sudden memories of sitting at the kitchen table watching Mimi write a letter on her best stationery, not trusting the computer to save the words. The scent of wild roses and coffee hung in the air. The miniature fan on the counter whirred back and forth, stirring the napkins in their wicker basket.

Her coffee cup felt heavy. “Tim convinced me. Said we’d do it together. Even Jessica thought it was a great idea.” Nikki sniffed. Gérard took her coffee cup and set it on the table.

“Oh, don’t stop.” Nikki took his hands in hers, running her thumbs over his broad palms. She needed his affection, his warmth. For one night, she just wanted to be held. Made love to in the most romantic city in the world. And here she was, with the most handsome man she’d ever encountered. She kissed his calluses, inhaling his intoxicating manly scent.

Gérard kissed her forehead, pushing her back against the couch. “I won’t stop, but let’s talk a little more.” He sat back down and swirled his fingers over her knees.

She didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t he understand? Nikki clutched a blue brocade pillow and ran her thumb over its silky tassels.

“Tim? This was your lover?” His hands stilled.

Nikki gave an inelegant snort. “Love? Ha! He didn’t love me. Used me, more like.”

“Lovers can be rather disappointing, can’t they?” His hands trailed down her calves with a delicious tickle. He picked up her foot, rested it on his thigh, and ran his thumb roughly down her instep.

“Oh, God!” Her head flopped back on the couch. What would she know about lovers? She’d only had one. Nikki gave a deep sigh. She wanted to learn more. Much more. “I bet you never disappoint anyone.”

He chuckled and she looked up into his eyes. The air pulsed between them. The pillow fell to the floor.

“We can never meet everyone’s expectations.” His finger lightly circled her ankle.

“You’re certainly exceeding mine.” Nikki closed her eyes and let her head fall back again as she took a long deep breath. Her chest expanded and she imagined herself floating in the air. Gérard’s touch, like magic, keeping her there.

He pulled on her big toe until it cracked, then soothed it with a gentle massage. “You’re easily impressed.”

“What do you mean?” Nikki bumped against a dark cloud, her insecurities spilling like rain. “I might not come from money, but I’m not some country bumpkin.” Which is exactly what she was with her almost-virginity, her almost-chic and her almost-French.

Tears welled up. Again. Damn. She flung off her glasses and covered her eyes, trying to hide from Gérard’s intense gaze.

His hands stopped. His lovely, warm, talented hands. Hands that almost made her forget everything.

“Nobody’s calling you a bumpkin. I know your family doesn’t come from money.”

“And if we did, I wouldn’t be so gullible. Is that what you’re saying?” Nikki struggled to sit up, but Gérard held her in a firm grip.

“I’m saying perhaps you make too many decisions based on money.”

“Of course. I don’t have any. What would
you
do? Would you work for you? Why did you hire me, anyway? For this?” Nikki wiped her eyes, curiosity overwhelming her. She didn’t care. Throw caution to the breeze, to the wind, whatever.

Gérard picked up her other foot, stroking her from calf to heel. He gave her a wry smile.

Her brain clicked on something so absurd she couldn’t believe it. But it all made sense. That’s what he was—one of those men who loved feet. After all, he hadn’t let her kiss him. He’d pushed her back on the sofa and concentrated on her feet. He would make love to her foot and demand she wear sexy high heels so he could get his jollies off. That’s why he had bought her those boots. Maybe, maybe if she let him fiddle with her feet, he would make love to her properly. Oh, dear Lord, she was so tired.

“I know your secret and it’s okay with me.”

His hands stopped.
Again.
She wiggled her toes, but he ignored them.

“What secret?” His voice held a hint of menace that pierced her alcohol-fogged brain. Maybe she shouldn’t talk about it.

“It’s okay. You’re safe with me.” She tried to reassure him and pat him on the hand, but she couldn’t quite reach and ended up patting the air like some dotty old woman.

Gérard stood up so abruptly the chair tumbled over behind him. Nikki squeaked in surprise and lay sprawled on the chaise, her robe tangled at her hips.

He leaned down, nose to nose. She gripped the slippery chintz in fear and complete, utter longing. Raw power emanated from him like an aphrodisiac, but she paused, biting her lip.

Something’s wrong here
.

“Nobody’s ever safe, Nikki. With anyone.” His voice was a deadly whisper.

“I feel safe with you. I did. It’s not a big deal.” Nikki pulled her head back.

Gérard straightened, running his hand through his hair. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know.” She could feel her whole body blushing. She waved a hand toward her toes and he gave her a puzzled look.

“My feet. Any feet. You know? You and feet?” Nikki stumbled over her explanation.

She could see realization finally dawn in his eyes and then he laughed. A big laugh that filled the room and felt like a bear hug, except now he was laughing at her and her face flamed in mortification.

“I’ve never heard that before.” He wiped his hand over his mouth, barely able to stifle his grin.

She sat up, indignant, struggling to straighten her robe. “How was I to know? Men don’t go around fondling feet unless they have an agenda.”

He shook his head, not bothering to hide his grin this time. “I think I like this new secret. Perhaps I shall buy you more shoes. Good night,
ma petite gateaux
. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

With a nod, Gérard left her room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Nikki flopped back on the chaise.
What the hell?
One minute he looked like he wanted to eat her up, the next he looked like he could kill her. She shivered and drew her robe tight around her. Perhaps she ought to sleep in the park. A burst of rain against the windows made her think otherwise. Would dealing with this man be worth the salary? She jumped up and paced, trying to think about the options, the questions, the mystery of Gérard Beauvais. No answers came as she circled the room. Lying down on the bed, she felt dead tired, but her brain wouldn’t stop. The bed felt too intimate, reminding her of her assumptions when she’d entered this room. Assumptions of making love. Assumptions of freedom—letting the wine, the man, the City carry her away to forget all her troubles with Tim and her nonexistent life.

“Assume makes an ass out of you and me.” She quoted Mimi out loud. It didn’t make her feel any better. She rolled out of bed and went to the window seat. Perhaps some fresh air would help. She pushed up the window and gulped the cold air rushing in. Rain dripped from the trees and she could hear it running down the gutter somewhere on the side of the house. Odd shapes rose in topiaries below and she could make out patterns created with evergreen hedges. A light shone from a large greenhouse at the back of the stone wall surrounding the garden. Gérard was moving around inside. She squinted but couldn’t see any details. What was the man doing out there?

Chapter 7

A pounding headache greeted Nikki when she awoke. Squinting against the lamp light coming from the bedside table, she surveyed the room from the top of layers of fluffy down, memories of the previous evening coming to her in a rush. She groaned and slid her head under the pillow. A faint mewing sounded outside her bedroom door. Groggily, she sat up and an ivory cotton blanket slid to the floor. Who had covered her up?

She staggered toward the door and opened it a crack to let Joan Jett inside. In the hallway, stood
Monsieur Formidable
himself. She better watch it or she’d be calling him that to his face. She suspected he wouldn’t take it in the spirit intended. Surely, he’d come to fire her.

“I’ll be dressed in fifteen minutes,” she blurted out.

He ignored her announcement and shouldered his way into her room. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” He nodded to the tray holding a silver coffeepot and a china cup decorated with roses, resembling something Mimi had painted, along with two croissants and a pot of dark jam.

“What? No potatoes and eggs?” She bit her tongue. Why couldn’t she keep quiet?

His mouth quirked up, then straightened again, all business. “I’m surprised you remember.”

In excruciating detail
. “It was a memorable dinner. I don’t believe I thanked you properly.”
Oh, shoot. That didn’t come out right.

“Here’s your opportunity.” His gaze skimmed over her body as if her robe was invisible.

Nikki stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated, although she was embarrassed down to her well-massaged pinkie toe. She owed him an apology for being totally unprofessional. But then, come to think of it, he owed her one, too. Somehow she didn’t think it was going to happen.

Gérard gestured to the couch with his chin. “I thought it best to continue our discussion when we were both sober. Sit down.”

Nikki bristled at his autocratic attitude.

He set the tray on the coffee table and ran his hand through his hair, unintentionally mussing it, making him look human. “Please?”

The uncertain please convinced her. She sat, pulling the hem of the robe closed over her knees. He poured what she’d first thought would be coffee and turned out to be the most luscious hot chocolate she’d ever had.

“Oh, my God! This is wonderful.” She could get used to this.

“I’ll tell Jean-Luc you said so.”

She bit into the buttery pastry and nearly moaned. No jam needed. “Tell him he makes an excellent croissant, too.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I only employ the best. Now, I have some stipulations regarding your job.”

The flaky layers turned to dust in her mouth. She didn’t want to be fired.
That
would be humiliating after only one day. Of course she’d gone way beyond the professional boundary. But then, so had he.

Nikki jumped up, conscious again of her nakedness under the robe. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I’ll find another place to live.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You signed a contract.” He sat down and poured himself a cup of chocolate and picked up a croissant. Settling back onto the cushions, he took a bite, eying her as he chewed.

Nikki pushed her glasses up her nose, only to realize they weren’t there. Feeling foolish, she kept her hand there, closing her eyes as if she had a headache. She didn’t have one anymore. The chemistry of either the chocolate or Gérard had cured it. She would like to bet it was the chocolate, but she wasn’t a gambling woman.

“In America, we have three days to cancel a contract.” Nikki peered between her fingers.

“Then it’s a good thing this is France.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he stared at her. He ignored Joan Jett as she licked the crumbs off his fingers, keeping his gaze on Nikki. “I expect you to keep your word,
Mademoiselle
Sommers.”

So they were back to formal address, were they? Maybe this was
Monsieur Formidable’s
way of apologizing—by resetting the employee/employer boundary. But then she would probably become just like the cat, subsisting on crumbs. Crumbs of affection thrown her way. Why did that bother her? This was her boss, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t need an affair to muddle up her future career plans. Nikki sat down again on the edge of the chair, her knees primly pressed together. “I always keep
my
word,
Monsieur
. Just as I expect you to keep yours.”

Gérard,
Monsieur Beauvais
, nodded and wiped his hands with a linen napkin. “As you know, the contract stipulates any communication within the scope of your work will remain private and be available to my scrutiny at all times. I wanted to make sure you understood that means any word from your sister regarding my company is to be reported to me.”

Bells and whistles went off in her head, along with waving red flags. “What did Jessica do?”

“It’s more of what she hasn’t done at this point.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged and stood up. “It’s imperative I talk with her if she contacts you. Understood?”

She stood, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to hold herself safe from what she might hear. “Did you have an affair with my sister?”

Gérard frowned. “Of course not.” He stepped closer, one side of his mouth quirking up as he fingered a lock of hair lying against her breast. Her breath hitched as her hair curled around his finger. “Jealous?”

She held her ground and lied. “No.” She’d always been jealous of her sister, the cosmopolitan rebel who captured the international spotlight. To think of
Monsieur Formidable
and Jessica together made her stomach churn, even though it shouldn’t matter. “You and I have a professional relationship only.”

“Correct.” He had the audacity to wink at her as if they shared some secret. “We have a contract.”

He let the curl trail from his fingers as if he would say more, but didn’t. His gaze lingered on her lips and Nikki’s whole body tingled.
Yes
. She willed Gérard to step closer. He turned away just as she stepped forward.
What was she thinking?
They both banged into the coffee table, making the tea service rattle and the cat run from the room. Gérard’s hand went to the back of his neck as he shook his head.

“Do you always cause such a commotion,
Mademoiselle
Sommers?”

Nikki tried to cover her embarrassment with a flirty remark. “Only when I need to,
Monsieur
Beauvais.”

She got a real grin in response. “Fair warning next time, okay?”

Nikki nodded.

Gérard motioned toward the bed. “I took the liberty of obtaining you some new clothes as yours seemed sadly over worn. As my assistant, it’s your responsibility to look the part. Perhaps you will now think of me as a, what do you call it, drag queen?” His smile turned wicked and entirely too self-satisfied.

“Look, about last night—”

“I must go,” he interrupted her. “I’m late already. Marco will drive you to work. I normally walk to the office. Alone.” He gave her a quick nod and stepped toward the door. Nikki blocked his way and Gérard’s eyebrow raised in question.

“Let me make dinner tonight. For the whole staff.”

“It will not be necessary. That is Jean-Luc’s job.” He moved past her.

“Perhaps a dessert?”

“You will be much too busy,
Mademoiselle
.” Then he was gone.

Nikki stomped over to the bed. Infuriating man. So why did she want to hyperventilate when he was near? And why did he keep touching her?
Augh.
Even now, as she remembered the headiness of his kiss, heat rippled through her, making her long to touch his mouth again. To feel his fingers exploring her bare knees. She flung her arms wide, trying to physically push the images away, and stopped short when she saw what lay on the bed.

Surely, this man wanted something besides her presence in the office. On the bed was arranged a white linen blouse with a brocade vest done in black, burgundy, and gold. A short black wool skirt paired with black tights, which would look wonderful with her new boots. And next to this outfit lay undergarments the likes of which Nikki had never owned. Cream silk with lace inserts, hand embroidered with delicate traces of pink and gold. And in her size. She slipped them on—of course, they fit perfectly. Everything the man did was perfect. Unlike herself. She shook her head trying to shake her own insecurities.

Nikki showered, dressed, and headed downstairs, looking forward to checking out Gérard’s kitchen. Had she sold her soul for money? Living on the wrong side of the tracks had certainly made her long for an easier life. And the salary Beauvais had quoted the day before was substantial enough for her to put a good chunk away each week to finance her
Le Cordon Bleu
dream. She reminded herself she was merely postponing her dream, not abandoning it altogether.

Nikki found the kitchen beyond the swinging doors at the end of the hall and stopped short in the presence of magnificence. Like the man, Beauvais’s kitchen was perfect—glass-fronted cabinets, a professional-grade stove, two banks of ovens, granite countertops, and not one, but two, stainless steel islands. No, it wouldn’t be clothes that put her over the edge, it would be appliances.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”

Nikki jumped. A short man, exactly her height, with tufted orange hair, stood before her, wearing a chef’s white coat and black and white checkered pants. He held a knife the size of Texas.

“
Bonjour, Monsieur
. I just came to see the kitchen.”

“Now you’ve seen it.” He shrugged in dismissal and continued butchering the meat in front of him. The man from last night appeared from behind a set of double doors.

“Nikki Sommers.
Monsieur
Beauvais’s assistant.” Nikki stuck out her hand.

The man shook it with a firm grip and a slight smile. “Didiér Horan. Also
Monsieur
Beauvais’s assistant.”

The chef snorted and
Monsieur
Horan said, “You have met Chef Guiscard?”

Nikki started. “Guiscard? Are you related to Gérard and Madame Emmaline Guiscard?”

The chef merely raised his eyebrow, apparently a family trait, while Horan said, “Jean-Luc is a distant cousin.” Then before Nikki could continue, he said “Did you require something else to eat,
Mademoiselle
?”

“No, thank you. Breakfast was lovely.”

“We’re glad you enjoyed it. Would you like the car brought around,
Mademoiselle
?”

“Yes,
Monsieur
Horan. And please, call me Nikki. I’ve forgotten my coat. I’ll be right back.” Nikki said her goodbyes with a little bow, feeling more intimidated by these two than she did by Gérard. Didiér gave a little bow back and Jean-Luc rolled his eyes at both of them.

She let the door swing shut behind her, then stopped when she overheard Didiér comment.

“I hear she wants to learn pastry.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“
Tante
Emmaline.
Mademoiselle
Sommers showed up at the shop yesterday looking for a job. She sent her to Gérard.”

Silence. Nikki leaned back toward the door, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but doing it anyway.

“Why? To learn pastry, she has to be at the shop.”

“
Tante
thinks it’s time Gérard got married.”

A bark of laughter sounded. “Just like she thought about Jessica.”

A snort of laughter erupted from the chef. “This should be interesting.”

Nikki dashed off upstairs, mortification pushing her every step of the way.
Something
had been going on between Gérard and Jessica. Was Gérard so desperate to talk to Jessica that he was using Nikki as bait to lure her sister back to Paris? How easily Nikki had fallen for Gérard’s flirting and teasing—and lies. Tears threatened as she searched for her cape.
Foolish girl.
Obviously, she was desperate for affection after Tim’s abrupt betrayal. Childish fantasies had spun in her brain like cotton candy ever since her first glimpse of Gérard. It was time to grow up and get beyond the fairytales.

Nikki took a deep breath. Oh, heavens, this could be a mess. She took off her glasses and dabbed at her eyes.
One thing at a time.

She found a coat rack in the corner, but instead of her travel-stained maroon cape, there hung a woman’s coat in cream wool in her size. Searching the armoire and finding no real closet, she deduced the coat also came from the clothing fairy. She stroked the luxurious fabric. It would be way too easy to get used to this. From the top of her head scented with Gérard’s shampoo down to the toes of her gift boots, she was a bought woman.

Nikki chewed on her lip trying to decide what to do next. Perhaps she was being hasty. After all, she’d heard nothing specific. Perhaps she’d misunderstood. Gérard didn’t act like a man with a broken heart, surely it involved more angst. He seemed amused or annoyed by her. And he had flirted and teased, and oh, that kiss. Nikki collapsed on the couch at the sudden recollection of her nuzzling his neck as he carried her upstairs. The coat slipped to the floor as she pressed her flaming cheeks.

Oh, God
. How could she have forgotten that singular detail? She had certainly egged him on, hadn’t she?

Nikki snatched up her cell phone to call Jessica and found the phone dead. Of course, her charger had been in the suitcase Tim had stolen. She tossed the phone on the armchair and sighed. This trip was becoming a crash course in human psychology. Nikki’s shoulders slumped as she headed back down the stairs. She would have a frank talk with
Monsieur Formidable
when she got to the office.

Nikki settled onto the back seat of the chauffeured car and tried not to feel like an imposter, posing as an executive assistant. Three blocks away, Nikki spotted
Madame
Guiscard’s bakery.

“Stop!”

Marco slammed on the brakes and the seatbelt jerked Nikki back in her seat. She scrambled out and hurried toward the pâtisserie until she remembered she ought to be walking like a lady. She slowed down and opened the door with Parisian nonchalance. The smell of bread assailed her senses like the finest perfume.

What bliss!

“Nikki! Back so soon?” The small woman gave Nikki a hug and kissed both cheeks in greeting. “Gérard, he gave you a job,
non
?”